


Hot To The Touch

by TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Massage, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Pete is a brat and Patrick loves it, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan/pseuds/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan
Summary: Pete's shoulders are a mess since his fiancee left. Gabe is tired of delivering services for free, and at the expense of time with his wife. Thus, he gets Pete an appointment with the world's most adorable massage therapist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I have had this sitting partially written in my files for months. I can't seem to find the time to work on it as much as I'd like. I'll post a bit, and I guess, let me know if you'd like to read more?

Pete groaned as Gabe’s long, bony fingers worked into the tender spot under his shoulder blade, wincing at the pressure. It hurt, but he wasn’t feeling any real… release.

Now Gabe gave a frustrated growl. “Dude, this isn’t helping. That knot is fuckin’ monstrous. All I’m doing is giving you a bruise.” He stopped and laced his fingers, cracking his knuckles mightily and sighing in relief. There was a pronounced red spot on Pete’s back where he’d been digging in, and the sad part was that knot wasn’t even the worst of it.

Pete had been a massive ball of stress since Ashlee had left him six months ago. He’d gone from sleeping three hours a night to one if he was lucky, he’d dropped about ten pounds he didn’t really have to lose, and his muscles had tied themselves into configurations that would have made Jack Sparrow scratch his head in confusion. Gabe was trying to be supportive and be a good friend to his erstwhile bestie, but Erin was starting to get annoyed that her husband was being more of a husband to Pete than to her.

When Pete only responded with a grunt and a twist of his neck, Gabe stood and kicked his leg cleanly over his much smaller friend’s cranium. Pete sighed, put his t-shirt back over his head, and slid it down his lean torso.

“Look, I gotta go,” Gabe said apologetically. “Erin’s gonna think I switched teams on her.”

Pete forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not my type. Too gangly, man.”

The taller man gave a sympathetic smile. “You should enlist a professional, amigo.”

“I have a therapist,” Pete said, his expression quizzical. “Unless you mean… like, a _**professional-professional**_?” He hunched forward meaningfully as he said this last.

Gabe rolled his eyes. “I mean a massage therapist, man. Get someone who knows what they’re doing. Stop trying to con your straight best friend into copping a feel. You feel me?”

Now Pete finally gave a real laugh. “Yeah, I feel you, Saporta. I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Point of fact, I know someone who can help you.” Gabe looked at the sad specimen still sitting on his living room floor. “Totally your type, too.”

“Lemme think about that, man,” Pete mumbled as he dropped his gaze to the rug. “I don’t know about…” He sighed.

“Dude, this is completely on the up-and-up. Professional massage, at a real spa-type-place, totally legit. Swear.” He held up three fingers.

“You were never a Boy Scout,” Pete retorted with a chuckle. “OK, OK, I’ll go. And not because of her being ‘my type’ or whatever, either. This is strictly professional. I need to be able to put my shoulders back down sometime before I die.”

Gabe laughed, and promised to get Pete an appointment.


	2. Chapter 2

For reasons Pete couldn’t really name, his heart was pounding as he walked through the door of Head Over Heels Massage Therapy. No one but Gabe had laid even a hand on him since Ashlee left. Not that he was at all interested in Gabe, of course. Gabe was his best friend, and straight, and married to a terrific girl. And Pete hadn’t been lying when he’d said Gabe was too tall for him.

No, it was simply the familiarity and comfort of the touch of a friend, someone he’d trusted and could feel comfortable with. Someone who wouldn’t try to seduce him or turn the hug or massage into something he just… hadn’t felt ready for, didn’t quite trust himself with. Gabe was a phenomenal friend, but Pete knew he was taking advantage of his kindness, and Erin was right that Pete was kind of monopolizing him.

He knew this was probably what he needed—a real treat, something luxurious and totally selfish. Something he could just drift and lose himself in. No need to make conversation or give anything in return. Something that could really relax and help him.

The receptionist was a pretty young woman with blonde hair pulled up in a smart twist and cute, thick-rimmed glasses. She gave a dazzling smile. “Hi, welcome to Head Over Heels! Can I help you?”

“Uh, I have an appointment at 4:30. Peter Wentz? W-E-N-T-Z.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked at his battered boots while the woman clicked away at the computer.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Wentz. I’ll let your therapist know you’re here.” She clicked a few times with her mouse, then answered the phone. After a few seconds talking to whomever was on the other end, she slowly turned her head back toward Pete. With a gentle expression, she gestured over Pete’s shoulder.

Startled, Pete turned around and saw an array of comfy chairs. “Oh,” he sighed with a flush of his cheeks. “Sorry.” He passed a hand over his hair, cleared his throat, then chose one and sat. He chanced a sheepish glance back at the receptionist, who gave a reassuring little smile and nod.

Pete went about busily scrolling on his phone, pretending to be terribly engrossed in Twitter, but not really reading anything. He furrowed his brow, pretending not to see the movement out of the corner of his eye, or the shadow that fell over his lap.

But he could never have ignored the honey-gold voice that poured into his ears. “Um, Mr. Wentz?”

When Pete looked up at the sound of his name, he had to clench his jaw so his mouth wouldn’t fall open at the sight of the completely adorable human standing over him. He swallowed hard as he pocketed his phone and stood up. He tried not to stare, he really did, but he knew he was being totally obvious as his eyes roved up and down the therapist’s body.

The guy was short, even shorter than Pete, with porcelain skin and russet hair that swept out from under a black baseball cap. He wore blocky, thick-rimmed glasses, not unlike the receptionist’s, and beautiful green-blue eyes studied him intently from behind them. He had smooth, soft-looking lips that Pete couldn’t help wondering about kissing, and he licked them nervously as he rocked on his heels.

Oh, that brought Pete’s attention lower. He had broad shoulders and a slightly rounded belly that was supported by some very strong looking legs. His arms were slender and pale, ending in beautiful, graceful hands.

Pete was positive he had to be drooling. He passed a hand over his mouth absently.

“You’re Peter Wentz, right?” the therapist asked. His expression had grown confused and slightly embarrassed, and his cheeks were reddening beautifully.

Pete finally cleared his throat and found some words. “Uh, just ‘Pete’ is fine, uh…” he trailed off meaningfully, raising his eyebrows at this gorgeous man in front of him. He even managed a grin.

“Patrick,” the therapist said, and offered one of those lovely hands. Pete shook it, and he was pretty sure he’d never touched softer skin in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

_Patrick!_

The ding on his cell phone came while he was in the break room trying to steal a bite of food between clients. It was followed by three consecutive dings, almost instantly

_Your new client is here_   
_He’s CUTE_   
_You HAVE to see this guy OMG_

Gracie had it in her head that Patrick “needed to get laid”, and as such was trying to set him up with literally anyone who came through the door that appeared to be remotely in his age group and not a total swamp creature, though Patrick thought she was casting her net a little too wide. OK, _way_ too wide. While a couple of them had been attractive, they’d had literally nothing in common. The rest had been anywhere from barely legal to barely single. Gracie thought Patrick was being too picky. Patrick thought Gracie pretty much needed to mind her own business.

Until he walked into the waiting area and set his eyes on Mr. Peter Wentz.

Gracie had finally hit the jackpot. He wasn’t very tall, thank God, and Patrick was pretty sure the Gods themselves had shaped the curve of his ass. His lean, tanned arms were covered with tattoos, and another bit of ink peeked out of the collar of his v-neck. Patrick desperately wanted to touch it.

_Oh, yeah, I actually get to do that!_

He noticed the guy, "Pete", standing there dumbfounded, shifting on his feet, and finally tried to give a chuckle. “C’mon in back, OK? Let’s get you comfortable.” He led him toward the massage rooms.

“Comfortable,” Pete scoffed, but there was no real venom in it. “I, uh, I haven’t done this before, so… I don’t know if ‘comfortable’ is really on the docket today.”

Patrick felt himself sliding into his element, into therapist mode. He smiled warmly, rubbed his hands together, and said, “I think I can change that. It’s kind of my job.” He put a hand on the small of Pete’s back and led him into his room, then closed the door. “So, why don’t you start by telling me about your problem areas?”

“Well, my whole life has kinda been one big ‘problem area’ for a few months now,” Pete said in a weak attempt at a joke. “Mostly since my fiancée left me.” He dropped his eyes and lifted one corner of his mouth. “Sorry, that was funnier in my head.” He sighed, then said, “My shoulders. Pretty much everything from the tips of my shoulder blades on up to the top of my head.” Patrick nodded as he fixed a sympathetic expression on his face. “My friend, Gabe, tries to help me with it all the time—” Patrick tried to keep his face from falling, “—but his wife is getting mighty pissed at the way I monopolize him.” Relief flooded his body, and he felt himself relax again.

Patrick gave a dramatic sigh. “Jeez, this has been a roller-coaster of emotions already, and it’s only been two minutes!” He laughed weakly, and was pleased to see Pete smile half-heartedly.

“Welcome to my life,” he mumbled.

“Anyway,” Patrick went on, rubbing his hands together again, “why don’t we have you get undressed and get under the covers face-up to start?”

As Patrick turned to leave, that gravelly voice stopped him. “Um, Patrick?” He turned to see Pete blushing, a hand on the back of his neck. The move raised the hem of his t-shirt and revealed yet another tantalizing strip of skin laced with dark ink. Patrick blinked a couple of times, then met his new client’s ( _that’s right, he’s a CLIENT, you perv_ ) eyes. With a little chuckle, he said, “Uh, like, how much do I…” Pete sighed, then just barreled on with it: “How much do I, y’know, take off?”

Patrick’s brain unhelpfully suggested _ALL OF IT ALL OF IT ALL OF IT_ , but he licked his lips to buy time before replying in his usual, completely professional fashion. “Well, officially, I tell you that you undress to your comfort level. Unofficially, I say that, since we’re focusing on your upper body, you should at least remove your shirt to make my life easier,

_and hotter_

and, to be honest, you’ll be under the covers the whole time, so you’ll probably be… well, cooler, without your jeans and shoes.”

_Please let that have come off as totally professional._ He rocked on the balls of his feet again.

Pete gave a dazzling smile, one that lit up his whole face, and somehow both crinkled and brightened his calico eyes. Patrick swallowed and tried his best not to faint dead away on the spot. “That’s fine. I, uh, I’m not known for being super shy, or anything, so…” He trailed off and waved a hand noncommittally, hoping he got his point across.

“Great. I’ll uh, step out, and you get yourself situated on the table, and I’ll just be back in a couple of minutes.” Patrick gave a firm, single nod, then turned on his heel (probably a little too perfunctorily to be believable as casual), then went out into the hallway and pulled the door firmly shut behind him. He heard the soft, fluffy sound of that cotton t-shirt moving against the air in there, then he heard the zipper of Pete’s jeans. He double-timed it back to the break room to catch his breath.

“Found you a good one, huh?”

Patrick jumped and whirled around to find Gracie standing there with a shit-eating grin on her face. He took a second to wonder where that expression came from, and then summarily discarded just about all of his thoughts for the next hour, or several, as totally unhelpful.

He gave a shrug, and tried to make it look just this side of nonchalant. “Yeah, he’s attractive,” he murmured.

Gracie rolled her big, brown eyes and patted Patrick’s shoulder. “Oh, Rick, you’re a great actor, but you’re a _terrible_ liar.” She strolled off without another word. Patrick considered stopping her and demanding what exactly she meant by all that, but he had a client

_A SMOKING HOT CLIENT_

waiting in that room, and there just wasn’t enough time in the day for deconstructing Gracie. He sighed, collected himself, and headed back to what he was trying not to think of as the imminent loss of his job for completely inappropriate behavior with his client.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in the room, Pete threw his shirt off and hurriedly unzipped his jeans. He shoved them down to his calves, and then remembered he’d left his boots on. He waddled over to the chair in the corner, sat, and kicked his boots off so he could yank his jeans and socks off in one motion. He left everything rumpled on and around the chair, and wondered if he should fold them. He settled for balling everything up so nothing was dangling, and placing his boots neatly underneath.

The table was another matter. He climbed under the blanket and sheet, silently praying to the God of Inappropriate Arousals that he would not be cursed for the next hour or so. Pete’s mantra was interrupted by the fact that there was a pillow under his calves, which wasn’t exactly comfortable. He propped himself up on his elbow and was trying to pull it free when a knock came.

“Pete? You ready?” Patrick’s voice was gentle, muffled by the door.

Pete looked at himself, half-sitting up and in the process of mangling the entire setup. “Um, kind of?” He shrugged a shoulder before realizing Patrick couldn’t see him.

There was a short pause. “Well, are you, like, decent?”

“Never,” Pete retorted, then shook his head and sighed. “I mean, I think I need some help.”

“OK, I’m coming in,” Patrick announced, then cracked the door and slid in. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Pete propped up on an elbow, chest exposed, visibly flustered.  Patrick then did what any professional would do. He definitely did NOT imagine sliding his tongue over all that beautiful exposed mocha skin; instead, he cleared his throat and said, “What can I do for you?”

Pete bit the inside of his cheek against the thought that Patrick could bend him in half and fuck him six ways from Sunday. Instead, he flicked his chin at the pillow support that was comically elevating his lower legs. “That doesn’t, like, go there, does it?”

“Oh, um, no,” Patrick said, suppressing a giggle. “It goes under your knees.” Pete sat up more, causing the blanket and sheet to pool at his waist, and started pulling at it, grimacing in concentration. Patrick put a hand on one of Pete’s wrists, felt his pulse fluttering there, and softly said, “Here, let me.” He pulled the pillow out the side of the sheets, then slid it back in under the crook of Pete’s knees effortlessly. “Is that better?”

Embarrassed, Pete let his legs fall down onto the pillow, and found it felt really nice. His lower back felt looser, even with just the inch or two of adjustment the support afforded. “Yeah,” he said in amazement.

As he started to drop back onto the table, Patrick tied his apron on, with the bottle of oil in the pocket. “Would you like the heating pad on?”

“There’s a heating pad?!” Like a flash, he was up on his elbows again, eyeing Patrick like an excited puppy. “Hell yeah, I want that! Fire that baby up!”

This was met with a smirk and a voiceless chuckle. “You do realize the point here is to  _relax_ , right?” he asked while he reset the timer on the heat and made sure it was cranked.

He’d meant it to be good-natured, a little harmless ribbing to put this nervous bundle of energy at ease. Instead, something flashed across Pete’s eyes that almost looked hurt, before he went back to flashing that smile again. It wasn’t quite as wide as a moment ago, though.

“Sure, right, relaxing. Obviously, if I were any good at that, I probably wouldn’t be here, and I probably also wouldn’t have needed my friend to book the appointment for me to practically force me to come in so I wouldn’t be such a… a  _burden_  to him—” Any attempt at joking or a charming façade had dropped while Pete was talking, and he waved a dramatic hand while he talked more to the wall than the only other person in the room. He still hadn’t abandoned his position up on his elbows, like he was on high alert.

Patrick stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a single word: “Pete.”

The word was soft, but firm in its unspoken command, and it had the intended effect of stopping Pete dead in his tracks and causing him to raise his hazel eyes to meet Patrick’s. His expression was quizzical, but also embarrassed, as though he were bracing to be scolded for something.

Patrick smiled warmly. “When is the last time you let anyone really _do_ for you?” He cocked an eyebrow. “I mean, just kicked back and let someone else…” he trailed off and considered, “…like,  _spoil_  you, without guilt, or apologies, or feeling like you had to give back somehow?”

“Um…” Pete seemed to think for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I thought so.” He patted Pete’s shoulder. “Well, all of that is gonna change right now. You just get to relax and—” Patrick stopped himself short of saying  _relax and just take it_ , which would be totally inappropriate and easily misconstrued ( _or just plain construed, let’s be real_ ), then went on, “just be treated without giving anything back. I mean, that’s why you booked this appointment, right?”

“Well, no. Like I said, my friend did.” Pete darted his eyes around, as though he were guilty of something. Of what, he didn’t know; he just felt like he was doing something  _wrong_ , blowing it in front of this amazingly hot guy. He felt his face heat up.

Patrick smiled at him, and Pete’s momentary embarrassment was forgotten as his stomach filled up with just about every butterfly on the planet. “Well then, I’d say you have a pretty good friend. Listen, Pete, this next hour is all about  _you_. Not me, not him, not your ex. Just  _you_.” He paused and held Pete’s gaze, trying to let it sink in. After a moment, he very carefully guided him back down to a supine position. “I’m here for  _you_  now. Let me take care of you, Pete.”

Pete swallowed hard and tried to control his breathing. Patrick’s touch was soothing, as was his voice, but being pushed down on the table by him, even so gingerly, and those words,  _Let me take care of you_ , were like liquid sugar in his veins. The heating pad was warm under him, and he immediately felt his shoulders sinking back into it.

“OK,” he murmured, then closed his eyes, though they immediately shot back open. “I have some questions, though,” he said tentatively. “Is that OK?”

Patrick laughed. “Of course, but I have to get started. The clock’s ticking, after all.”

Pete’s heart sank at the reminder that his time with this absolute angel was limited. He decided he would make the best of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Patrick disappeared from view, and Pete heard the familiar sound of cracking knuckles, followed by the rolling of wheels.

“OK, Pete,” Patrick said in a low, soothing tone, “I need you to take a deep breath in.” Pete did as asked, and was rewarded by the leisurely, alternating roll of Patrick’s palms against his trapezius muscles. “And let it out slowly.” He continued this motion and guided Pete through three or four rounds of deep breathing before stopping his palms flat and closing his fingers down. “It is 4:42, and we have 55 minutes, so we’ll be stopping at about 5:37.”

Pete tried to turn his gaze up over the top of his head, to see Patrick’s face, but the therapist simply repositioned him so he was looking straight at the ceiling and then placed his fingertips against the junction of his skull and neck, pulling upward slightly. The release was immediate and glorious. Pete gave an involuntary groan.

Upon hearing Patrick chuckle, Pete’s heart fluttered in his chest—half from sheer delight at the sound, and half from self-consciousness at what he’d just done.

“Sorry. Was that rude, or something? Like, do people  _do_  that, or is it weird? That was one of my questions already, just… just so you know.” Pete tried again to crane his head upside-down so he could somehow put Patrick in his line of sight. He only saw the brim of his black cap and a flash of pale forehead before Patrick gave a sigh and repositioned his head again. He tried to settle in and just look straight ahead, but the expression of slight worry didn’t leave his face.

Patrick furrowed his brow as he watched Pete shift around and frown, still completely unable to relax. “Don’t worry, you’re fine. Some people do, some people don’t. It’s totally OK either way.” After a slight pause where he oiled his hands and slid them under Pete’s back, he added, “I’ve even had people fall asleep and start snoring, but I doubt I have to worry about that with you.” He then pressed his fingers upward and dragged them back toward himself. Pete gasped and his torso undulated naturally with the motion. Patrick had seen hundreds of clients do this hundreds of times, but he was fairly certain his mouth had not begun watering at the sight of anyone else moving that way. “You OK?” he asked, hoping Pete didn’t notice the slight catch in his voice.

He just nodded in response and breathed, “Yeah. Do that again.”

Patrick did, and then did it one more time, and he wished dearly he were causing that motion from the other side of Pete’s body. He then applied more oil and went to work on Pete’s traps in earnest with his knuckles. After a few seconds of digging back and forth, he cradled Pete’s head and very carefully turned it so he was facing left. He ran two fingers down the side of his neck and out to the edge of his shoulder, stopping to press into a particularly tough knot right by the joint. Pete winced and bit his lip.

“You OK?” Patrick asked again, trying to sound even and professional, and not as concerned as he felt.

“Yeah,” Pete said on a sigh. “Just, y’know, hurts a little.”

Patrick paused. “Would you like less pressure?”

Pete had to swing at this slow pitch across the plate. He grinned up at Patrick’s worried face. “Nah. I’m good with a little pain.” He then turned his head back to where it had been without prompting or manual repositioning. It meant missing Patrick’s expression of surprise and intrigue, but Pete was trying to play it cool.

He was thoroughly and unceremoniously relieved of any cool factor on the next trail of those graceful fingers down his neck to that knot again, this time with a bit more pressure. He hissed a breath in and let out another moan, this one entirely ungraceful. It was soft, but more wanton, and his voice cracked on the end of it.

Patrick smirked. “That OK?” he asked, deliberately lowering his tone a bit. Pete nodded, controlling his breathing, and didn’t try to turn his head. As he continued trailing down around that tight spot, he watched Pete’s facial expression—the way he only closed his eyes to bear the pressure, but kept them open and fixed on the wall otherwise. His pulse was ticking smoothly, if a little fast, in the side of his neck.

  _He likes this,_ Patrick thought, _and not, like, in the usual, relaxing way. He’s, like, **digging** this._

He cradled Pete’s head and turned it to face the other way, then repeated the motions. The tension wasn’t as severe on this side, but Pete still hissed and winced when the same knot was discovered by his shoulder joint.

Almost cautiously, Patrick offered, “More?”

Pete nodded. “Yeah.”

Patrick bore down a little harder, and Pete gave another delicious little whine. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on his task at hand. His _job_. After a few minutes of attention to this area, he needed to move along. He took Pete’s head in his hands again, and he gave a little sigh and a smile as his head was turned. Patrick found his thumbs were working soothing circles on each temple.

“You OK?” he asked softly, only barely holding back from calling him _baby_ , as though they were lovers already, not just in his mind.

“Oh, yeah,” Pete drawled.

Patrick stood up and moved over to Pete’s right side. Pete watched him slick up his hands again and tried desperately not to think of other reasons he might need to lube his fingers. He was met with smooth, slippery warmth encasing his arm and moving from his shoulder to his fingertips. Pete sighed dreamily as he watched those graceful, pale hands slide almost reverently down his arm over and over.

When Patrick began to knead his forearm with both thumbs, Pete couldn’t help noticing they were double-jointed--hitchhikers’ thumbs. This led him to wonder whether this beautiful man with the exquisite touch was flexible anywhere else. He licked his lips unconsciously, and Patrick smirked slightly as he did, though he didn’t raise his eyes from his work.

Instead, he circled both hands around the forearm he’d been tending to and let them glide down to Pete’s wrist. This did nothing to help derail Pete’s current train of thought, of course, and he found his mouth suddenly very dry, since it had been hanging open while he practically panted as he watched Patrick caress him.

“You could close your eyes, you know.” Pete was snapped out of his reverie to find the other man leveling him with his sea-blue gaze. “It helps some people relax.”

There was that word again. Relaxing had been moved to the absolute bottom of his list since Patrick had begun touching him. Before he could rethink his words, he blurted out, “Thanks, but I’d rather watch you.” He felt his face flush, and he winced, but Patrick was smiling brightly. Pete thought he looked like he’d just won the lottery.

“Oh, yeah?” Patrick replied, trying to sound cool and playful, but he genuinely seemed surprised.

A tingle of excitement began to electrify Pete’s chest. Was Patrick actually _happy_ Pete had just basically admitted to finding him attractive? He raised an eyebrow. “I can’t be the first person to say that to you.”

“Well,” Patrick drawled while he dropped his gaze began to massage Pete’s hand, “you’re… um,” he trailed a bit as he blushed crimson. “Let’s just say that you’re the first one that, um, I’d want looking. At least, that I’ve met in a while. So, uh, yeah.”

Pete now gave a blinding grin of his own. He knew Patrick saw it, too, even though he didn’t raise his eyes again, because he closed Pete’s hand in both of his own before letting it slide out of his grasp and moving to the other side of the table.

 _This is too good to be true_ , he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

Patrick stopped short at the foot of the table and uttered quietly, “Oh, sh… shoot,” then turned and backtracked to where he’d just been.

“What is it?” Pete asked, worry line creasing his forehead.

“Nothing. Well, nothing major, anyway. I mean, that is, I just… forgot a part.” His cheeks were heating up, but inspiration struck as he took Pete’s wrist, and he smirked. “And it’s a good one.”

Pete cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Instead of answering directly, Patrick lifted Pete’s wrist so his arm was pointing at the ceiling, then slid his left hand the entire length and under Pete’s shoulders to the opposite side, effectively half-embracing him. This brought their faces close, and Pete’s breath caught in his throat. Patrick pulled back enough to bring his fingers in under the right shoulder blade, letting them roll back and forth over that most troublesome of knots. Pete pushed his shoulder back against the delicious pressure and moaned.

“More?” Patrick asked into Pete’s ear.

Pete nodded. “Yeah. God, that’s good.”

His fingers dug deeper and moved up and down over the tangled muscles, making small circles as they went. Pete kept pressing himself harder onto Patrick’s fingertips, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah, that’s it,” he growled. He’d raised his head up a little in order to get the right leverage.

“Told you.” Patrick withdrew his touch and righted his stance while Pete’s head flopped backward onto the table. He went to the opposite side and repeated his solemn care of the left arm muscles, eyes roving over the circus of black ink there. When he finished with the same half-embrace maneuver, Pete made sure never to drop his gaze from Patrick’s.

"So," Pete sighed coyly, "you do this to all the boys?"

A soft chuckle tickled his cheek and made his neck break out in gooseflesh. "Mhm. And all the girls," Patrick murmured softly. He pulled back and dug in under the shoulder blade. "But," he went on as he slowly raked his gaze up to meet his client's, "I'm... um,  _particularly--_ " he pressed harder into the muscle as he emphasized the word, "--enjoying it today." 

Pete smiled and loosed a desperate little whine as he tried again to push himself further against those magical fingers. "Fuck," he uttered, then clapped his free hand over his mouth. "Shit--I mean, uh, dude, I'm sorry," he mumbled behind his palm, staring with wide copper eyes.

Patrick didn't even attempt to hide his awe. He gaped for a second, and he could practically feel his pupils dilating as he mentally catalogued the last ten seconds for future reference. He finally blinked a few times, gave a weak laugh, and managed, "That's... totally fine, Pete. I mean, as long as you're not, like, yelling or anything. Because, y'know, that could disturb the other clients, and stuff." He finished his rambling by clearing his throat and then finishing off Pete's arm with a slick flourish and placing his hand gently on his chest.

When he momentarily disappeared from view again, Pete craned upward to at least catch a glimpse of the black baseball cap, russet hair, and pale cheek.

Patrick picked up on this. "I'm right here, don't worry. I'm just setting the face cradle." Pete settled back down and just watched the ceiling for a few seconds, then immediately followed with his eyes when Patrick went to the other end of the table. "I'm just gonna remove the support..." he pulled the pillow out from behind Pete's knees, "...and if you could please turn over onto your stomach and settle your face up there in the cradle?"

Pete didn't hesitate, nor did he even try to be coy or at all normal in his movements. He slithered to one side and slowly twisted first his shoulders, then his hips, and writhed his way up the table on his elbows, dragging each step out obviously, then lowered his face into the cradle. Once he was satisfied with his positioning, he dropped his lower body, then his torso, agonizingly slowly.

Patrick hugged his elbows and stared unabashedly at what Pete definitely knew he was showing off. "So, you have some interesting tattoos," he observed, hoping he sounded cooler than he felt. "I'm curious, though, what's the one on your... pelvis?" He said this last word with an air of resignation, as though he knew there was no delicate way to say  _right above your dick_.

Pete gave a low, dark laugh, and got up on his elbows to look over his shoulder with a smirk. "Oh, that. It's a bat, a heart, and a skull. I call it a 'bartskull'."

"You... made that up?" Patrick wasn't sure whether he was impressed or not at the idea. The twitching sinews in Pete's upper arms and back made up his mind for him: It didn't matter; it was fucking _hot_. "That's cool."

There was a tremor in his voice as he spoke, and Pete didn't miss it. He winked, then slowly lowered himself into the face cradle again. He took a deep breath and let it out, then murmured, "Alright, 'Trick, I'm ready."

_OK, but am I?_  Patrick cracked his knuckles again and tried to prepare mentally for a lot more teasing. Why pretend it would be anything else?


	7. Chapter 7

Once he was settled on his belly, Pete decided he didn't really love this position.

He couldn't see Patrick anymore.

There were the soft shuffle of footsteps and the familiar sound of slick being applied, which definitely sent Pete's mind wandering in a pleasant direction, but otherwise, it could be anyone in the room with him, preparing to do or say almost anything. For some reason, that made him uneasy. He inhaled sharply to speak, to break the silence that gnawed at his every insecurity out of nowhere.

"You don't have to talk, Pete. It's OK," Patrick murmured, then started humming prettily. Those soft, glorious hands were on his shoulders again, sliding down his back without force, and now Pete noticed the fingertips were rough, calloused.

"You play?" he asked. "Like, music?"

There was a pause, both in sound and touch, and Pete held his breath. "Yeah, I do. How'd you know?" Patrick asked, then began bearing down in earnest.

"Callouses," Pete managed. "I do, too. Just bass, really, but, I mean, it's, y'know, been a while." Patrick made a thoughtful little noise, then went back to humming. The uncertainty of not being able to watch Patrick--see his kind face, see him smile and blush, and have some reassurance he wasn't rolling his eyes or smirking or otherwise getting annoyed with him--was like spiders in his brain. "So, what do you play?" Pete pressed.

"Um, drums, guitar, bass, piano, some trumpet," Patrick replied sheepishly. "Um, I just kinda like to play around with some of everything."

For Pete, that was low-hanging fruit. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he cooed. He hoped he sounded sexier than he felt.

Patrick merely dug deeper into Pete's erectors, eliciting another of those tantalizing groans he'd come to relish so much.

Pete went on, "I, uh, I write, too, and I kinda used to sing in a band. Well, scream is more like it, y'know?"

_I'd love to make you scream_ , Patrick thought reflexively, but then took note of the thread of tension in his voice and asked, "Pete, are you OK?" Pete lifted himself on his elbows again and was met with an eyeful of Patrick's crotch. He bit his lip and tried to look up further, but Patrick crouched down to look in his eyes. "You seem like you're all nervous all over again."

He saw those beautiful calico eyes drop away. "Um."

He put a kind, though slippery, hand on Pete's shoulder. "You can tell me."

"Kinda, yeah," Pete finally admitted, and looked closer to Patrick's face without meeting his eyes. "It's, um, hard to tell your reactions when I can't see you, that's all."

The incredulous look that took over Patrick's features would have been comical if it weren't so tender. "And have I given you any reason to think I would be somehow reacting... negatively?"

"No, but tell that to my brain." Pete shrugged, as if to say  _What ya gonna do_.

Patrick smiled as inspiration struck. "OK." He leaned right into Pete's ear and spoke, low and soft. "Pete's Brain, this is Patrick Stumph. I'm a massage therapist who has crossed almost every professional boundary I can without flat-out breaking the law to flirt with Pete and let him know I find him very attractive. You can rest assured that I'm still checking him out and thinking about all the things I want to do with him... some other time." He pulled back to meet Pete's gaze, and was relieved to find his face was the portrait of amazement and gratitude.

"Did you really mean all that?" Pete whispered. His mouth hung open.

Patrick gave one firm nod of his head. "Yes. I really meant all that. Can I finish now?"

Pete chuckled. "So, you're gonna turn me over and finish on me?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." Patrick's tone was fond as he shook his head and guided Pete back into position.

"Yeah," Pete agreed, "I guess that's a bit forward for our first date, huh?" He winked and put his head back down.

Hot breath and a hotter croon was in his ear then: "This is not a date. You'll know when I take you out for real." He felt his entire body shudder, and Patrick laughed softly.

Pete drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. His released his shoulders a little, and then Patrick forced them the rest of the way with intense kneading. Pete closed his eyes and just made himself relish the slide of skin on skin, the heat and force against his aching muscles, and the small sounds of Patrick's breath as he exerted himself. 

"That's it," Patrick soothed. "Let me take care of you."

Pete finally, finally just let himself drift and enjoy the attention for a while.


	8. Chapter 8

Pete was just starting to let go and really drift a bit, when Patrick climbed onto his back, knees on either side of him. He could distinctly feel almost all of his blood heading south, but then Patrick leaned with his forearm up the right side of his back, finishing with a sharp elbow digging in under his shoulder blade. The pain was sudden and exquisite. Pete gritted his teeth and groaned, and he could feel his hands closing and opening almost involuntarily as Patrick relentlessly worked the granite-like boulders and tried to loosen them.

"You're gonna leave bruises if you're not careful," he warned through his clenched teeth.

Patrick's full weight was on his back then, the soft cotton of his well-worn and repeatedly washed t-shirt like a blanket packed with compact body heat. He whispered in Pete's ear, "Is that a problem?"

Now the blood was definitely coursing below Pete's waist. "Not really. Like I said, I'm g--"

"You're good with a little pain, I know." Patrick's voice was slick as oil. "Besides, it'll be something to remember me by." He sat back up and resumed the pattern of forearm-then-elbow on the right side a few times before changing to the left. The left wasn't nearly as tight, so he didn't have to press in so firmly, but Pete had that same reaction, groaning and opening and closing his hands lightly.

Patrick soon moved on to gently smoothing his flat hands over both sides of Pete's back and just pressing into his traps and neck here and there. The more soothing, tranquil strokes allowed Pete to close his eyes and drift again, and he definitely pictured looking in the mirror, seeing the bruises, and thinking of Patrick piled onto his back making them.

His thumbs pressed into Pete's lower back a bit, and he let out a little cry of pleasure.

"Good?" Patrick asked. His voice sounded absolutely fucked out, breathless.

Pete tried to nod, realized he couldn't really, then sighed, "Oh, yeah."

"Good." He did it again, and relished the little sounds Pete kept making, storing them away for later.

_**Much**  later_, he admonished his tingling cock.  _We're working right now._ He pulled in a deep, cleansing breath, then let it out as he continued to wind things down. When he finished, he climbed off and headed to the little steamer beside the door.

Pete bit his lip and swore he would remain still. He wouldn't go searching for reassurance that Patrick was still there. He  _wouldn't_. He would be good. He'd already ruined so much, disrupted Patrick's routine, interrupted his work...

Then, there was a hot, damp cloth on his back, and it started moving in slow circles.

"I'm just wiping down your back. Let me know if this is too hot." Patrick's voice was soft and tender now, all caring and no swagger.

Pete let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "No, that's nice."

"Good."

The blanket was pulled up to his shoulders, and the pillow was pulled out from under his ankles. "OK, Pete, I'm just gonna step out for a moment, and you just take your time getting up and getting dressed. I'll be right back with some water for you. OK?"

Pete gave a dreamy  _Mmmmmhhmmmmm_ , and then he heard the door open and close. He lifted himself up onto his elbows and blinked a few times before throwing the blanket off and getting to his feet. He was half-hard and half-asleep, which was a strange combination. By the look of his shadow, his hair was mussed to hell, and a glimpse in the mirror showed that he pretty much looked like he'd just gotten laid. He chuckled and passed a hand over it, to no avail, then slowly began pulling his clothes back on.

In the break room again, Patrick opened the fridge for a water bottle, when there was a tap on his shoulder. He jumped again, but not as much as the first time Gracie had startled him. He turned to find her eyeing him knowingly.

"You're five minutes behind," she observed with a meaningful gaze.

"He was nervous," Patrick defended, a fine tremor in his voice. "Took a bit to get him to calm down."

She nodded, but still smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Mhm," she hummed, then kissed his flaming cheek and walked back out front.

He chuckled and shook his head before turning and heading back to the room.

Pete was just tying his shoes when that soft knock came again, just like at the start.

"Pete? Are you ready?" Patrick asked meekly, as though he hadn't just seen him in his underwear.

He swallowed. "Yeah."

"OK." He came back in, and Pete forgot tying his shoes so that he could take in the vision before him. Patrick's face was flushed, a fine sheen of sweat dampening his temples and the inside of his cap. He rolled the water bottle back and forth in his hands as though it were a client. For a minute, neither one said anything; finally, Pete finished tying his shoes. Patrick sighed, then began, "So, um, yeah, it felt like some of those problem areas loosened up a bit, but I recommend that you stretch every day, drink plenty of water, and um, come back in three to four weeks."

Pete grinned widely, bright and charming as ever, and Patrick felt his heart positively melting. He stood, approached the slightly smaller man, and said, "How about you give me your number so I can see you sooner?"

Patrick didn't flinch, however. "I have yours, since we needed it to book your appointment, so you'll be hearing from me." There was a glint in those bluish eyes, but the rest of his face seemed perfectly calm.

"Um, OK, but..." Pete faltered. He tried to fix his face in a playful expression, but the insecurity in his eyes shone like a homing beacon.

Patrick put a hand on his bicep. The grip was firm, but not harsh. "Pete, go on, now. You'll be hearing from me, trust me." He leaned in Pete's ear. "I'm not done taking care of you." Pete's eyes rolled back and his breath caught in his throat. Patrick slipped a card into his hand. "Give this to Gracie out front. She'll rebook you to see me here." 

When he'd composed himself, he looked at the card a moment, chuckled, then said, "I gotta thank Saporta for making this appointment. I mean, when he said you were 'my type', I assumed he meant you'd be a chick, but this... this is way better than..."

The grip on his bicep tightened a bit, and Patrick's eyes, sharpened. "Wait, Saporta? Oh, my God... your friend  _Gabe_... of course!"

"Yeah, didn't you know that? How else would you have known I was even into guys?" Pete asked, confused.

Patrick blushed and lowered his gaze. "Um, I didn't. Not until you said you wanted to look at me." He shrugged. "I mean, I thought maybe, because, like, Gracie was really pushing you on me, which makes  _total_  sense now, and I mean, those jeans..."

"Wait, what about Gracie? I don't get it." Pete completely ignored the comment about his sartorial choices.

"She's Gabe's cousin. Of course they would conspire on me like this. But, seriously, I'm lucky you even looked twice at me, if you know him." Patrick seemed to be over his embarrassment now.

"Nah, Gabe was right when he told me you were, like, 100% my type. Gabe's too gangly. And let's not forget straight and married." Pete leered a little. "The point being, I like  _you_."

"Point taken. Now, go on, go face down Gracie. I'm way behind now, thanks to flirting with you." He smirked.

At the front, Gracie's sharp brown eyes fixed knowingly on Pete's disheveled appearance. "Ah, Mr. Wentz. How was everything today?"

"Great," Pete replied without hesitation, smiling broadly. "Patrick's terrific." He handed her the card.

"That's wonderful," she said in a professional tone, "and will you be rebooking for..." she looked at the card, "three to four weeks?"

Pete nodded. "Oh, yeah." They made a new appointment, and then she took Pete's credit card for payment. "Will you be putting the tip on your card, also?" Patrick came out to take in his next client, and Pete seized the opportunity.

"Definitely not just the tip," he said mischievously. "The whole thing." He chanced a glance and was rewarded with porcelain cheeks glowing crimson.

Gracie looked over Pete's shoulder at Patrick and her eyes widened momentarily in shock, but then regained her footing and smiled. "Of course." Pete filled out and signed the receipt, and made sure to brush Patrick's arm as he passed toward the door. He heard Gracie chuckle through her hand just before he stepped out onto the walkway and the doors closed behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah I keep completely changing my mind about how I want this to go so... this is my direction this week. LOL enjoy.

Patrick was folding linens when Gracie poked her head into the laundry room to say good night before locking the front. He smiled and replied in kind, and she winked.

“I expect a full report on  _everything_ you and that boy talked about,” Gracie admonished playfully, “assuming, that is, that you actually  _talked_  about anything.”

“Very funny,” Patrick retorted with a smirk. “Despite his best efforts, I remained professional.” After a pause, during which Gracie narrowed her eyes and cocked an eyebrow, he laughed and admitted, “OK, OK, it was… a near thing, but no, nothing salacious happened. Some flirting, you know, but no one touched anything that wasn’t supposed to be touched.” He went back to folding with a semi-annoyed smirk. “Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t want to lose my job.”

Gracie hummed thoughtfully. “Well, the moment something does happen, I imagine Gabe and I will be handsomely compensated for our efforts.”

“The fact that I don’t knock your two heads together ought to be enough. I’m a grown-up, and I don’t need you meddling in my love life.” He didn’t look up from his task as he said this.

“Patrick, you’re only twenty-three. Besides, anyone who actually uses the word ‘grown-up’ isn’t one.” She darted in the room long enough to kiss his cheek before skittering off. “Good night!”

“G’night,” he called after her, then put his folded pile in a cabinet and went to grab his jacket.

When he went out the back and locked up, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw an unfamiliar car and a very familiar face waiting for him.

Pete was leaned against the hood of his bright red, semi-sporty looking car, wearing a purple-and-black striped hoodie. It was zipped up and the hood was up, and his bangs fell perfectly into his honey-colored eyes that were somehow also green in the orange glow of the parking lot lamps. He grinned as soon as he saw Patrick, and pushed off the car to stand, hands in his pockets.

“Hey.” He was trying to sound casual, and his eyes were trying to be playful, but Patrick felt like there was some form of tension behind it.

“Pete,” Patrick said in a cautious tone, “I thought I told you I would be in touch with you.”

He shrugged one shoulder and toed the concrete, momentarily looking away. “Didn’t wanna wait that long,” he replied, then met Patrick’s gaze defiantly. “Do you?” he challenged.

Patrick didn’t answer, and Pete moved closer. He was still asking the question with those unbelievably warm eyes and the tilt of his head. When a hand came out of his pocket to take Patrick’s, it was gentle, even tentative.

Finally, Patrick seemed to find some words. He looked into Pete’s face and said, “How do you even know how long I was going to wait?”

Two long fingers slid to Patrick’s wrist and found his pulse. It was definitely speeding up, and Pete smiled again. Patrick felt like the whole parking lot lit up with it. “Well, you haven’t called me yet, so you were already taking too long.”

“I was working, Pete,” Patrick admonished. He knew his tone was probably a tad more stern than he'd meant for it to be, but this wasn't at all how Patrick had imagined this. He had had  _plans_. A proper date, maybe two, with dinner and everything, before jumping right to the nakedness.

_Nakedness_ , his mind hissed, and Patrick licked his lips.

Pete was closer now, crowding him against the door. He nuzzled into Patrick's ear. "Do you want to wait?" he asked again.

"No," Patrick managed, putting his hands on Pete's chest. "No." His tone changed from the first to the second, from desperate to controlled, more firm.

Pete's brow furrowed. "No? Which kind?"

"Not like this, Pete."

"Not like what?" he asked, backing up. His face flickered, betraying a flash of fear. "Not like me?"

Patrick blinked very deliberately a few times, hoping his face was the portrait of confusion. "What? Yes, like you, Pete. Like,  _exactly_  like you. I would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb--"

"The word is mute, I think," Pete interrupted.

"No, I mean, I'd actually have to be stupid not to want you." He issued a weak chuckle and stepped toward Pete, whose face was regaining hope and brightening. "I just meant... like, not quick and dirty in back of where I work, y'know? I just... I want to do this right, for lack of a better term."

Pete pouted. It was a tad too dramatic to be genuine as he asked, "Well, then, where? And  _when_?"

Patrick shouldn't be buying this, he knew. He shouldn't be absolutely falling for that lower lip jutting out, for those beautiful calico eyes, for the way his t-shirt rode up just so.

_Coulda, woulda, shoulda,_ he thought with an eye roll.

Pete caught it, and his face fell again. "What? What's wrong?"

_Oh God, he hates me. He doesn't want me at all, he was just being nice,_ Pete's mind raced.  _If only I'd played it cool, not been such a fucking stalker..._  He chewed his lower lip.

"What? Nothing," Patrick tried to reassure him. "Just my brain being really unhelpful, that's all." He reached for Pete's hand, and Pete gave it, his face suddenly more cautious, suspicious, even. "Look, you  _have_  to have known what you were doing to me today, Pete. I think I made it pretty obvious." He glanced down at himself, then back at up. Pete followed the look and couldn't help the way his eyes widened at the obvious bulge in Patrick's skinny jeans. Patrick went on, "You drive me crazy, Pete. The way you had me acting today, all confident and in control or whatever, that's not me at all, not usually anyway. You made me feel _sexy_ , Pete. If you knew me, you'd know how huge that is." His tone was earnest, and he was rambling truths he never thought he’d admit so soon. He felt his cheeks heating up.

Pete flicked his eyes downward again, then smirked. "I'd like to know how huge it is," he teased, his voice husky. Patrick gasped in surprise and let out his breath in a long, shaky exhale. His face felt like it was on fire all over now, and his heart was hammering in his chest. Pete squeezed the hand he held in both of his own, though, and went on, “But, that’s not… I don’t want you to think that that’s  _all_  I want from you. I just… dude, you’re seriously fucking hot. I don’t know if I can concentrate on anything else until…” He shrugged a shoulder and rolled his eyes playfully, as if to say,  _oh, you know_.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Patrick admitted. “I need you, too.” He bit his lip and winced, suddenly afraid he’d said too much.

But the way Pete’s face lit up in that megawatt smile made Patrick’s heart flutter a little. Maybe. Not that he’d tell Pete that on top of everything else he’d already blurted out thanks to his stupid, stupid, gorgeous face.

“You do?” Pete asked, as though he genuinely didn’t know.

Patrick realized he could act exasperated at Pete’s supposed obliviousness to his own hotness, but then he flashed on those moments on the table, where Pete’s confidence faltered and the…softness, the anxiety and self-doubt that Patrick would never have believed could plague someone like Pete, showed itself.

_He’s only human_ , Patrick reasoned with himself.  _An extraordinarily pretty human, yeah, but still not so different from the rest of us plebes._  He smirked to himself as he took a pen out of his pocket and opened Pete’s palm. It was perfectly dry, despite the fact that they had been holding hands for several minutes. He wrote as carefully and clearly as he could, and then let Pete see.

“What’s this?” he asked, his eyes widening as he read.

“My address. Come knock on my door in no less than one hour. Can you do that?” Patrick asked, then backpedaled. “I mean, would you like to do that?”

“No later than an hour?” Pete asked uncertainly.

“No, no  _sooner_  than an hour from now. I need to… make some preparations.”

Pete’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Really? What kind of preparations?”

Patrick shook his head. “Can’t tell you. It’d ruin the magic.” He smirked, but there was something sarcastic, self-deprecating in it. Still, Pete drew in a sharp breath and felt his heart stuttering when Patrick took the hand he held and kissed the knuckles, then raised an eyebrow at Pete. “An hour, then?”

Pete nodded vehemently. “No sooner, I promise.”

“Good.” Patrick smiled approvingly, then turned and walked off to his car.

_Good_ , Pete thought, watching Patrick’s ass as he walked away. _I can be good for a little longer._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I've been working on this in dribs & drabs for like, months now or something, and it's really long and pretty sappy bc that's how I roll.  
> Anyway, I hope this is worth the wait, for anyone who was still waiting.

The knock came at Patrick’s door just as he was fluffing the pillows on his bed. He jumped (he couldn’t really entirely quell the voice in his head that tried to tell him it was all a joke, that Pete wasn’t coming over, that he’d been kidding himself if he thought an absolute god like Pete could ever possibly want a short, chubby, pasty nerd like him), then straightened and surveyed his work.  _Not too bad for only an hour_ , he congratulated himself.

Pete stood there, hood back up and hands in his pockets, trying to catch his breath.

“Hey again,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “One hour and one minute,” he announced proudly, holding up a finger. “I tried to wait a little extra just to be sure, but… I couldn’t anymore.”

Patrick smiled widely and held out his hand. “Very, very good.”

It was a gamble, making such an obvious power play, but the way Pete’s smile took over his face as he took the proffered hand told Patrick it had paid off.

Pete looked around while Patrick closed the door and led him through. It was small, and a bit cluttered, but tidy. His gaze lingered on the guitar and small electronic keyboard next to a laptop in one corner.

 _He plays music_ , Pete reminded himself.  _I have to ask about the mini-studio later._

He’d just managed to file away the thought when they entered Patrick’s bedroom and Pete was stopped dead in his tracks. The room was clean, the bed freshly made, and there were candles flickering on the dresser, nightstand, and windowsills. The room smelled of vanilla and lavender.

“Patrick,” he breathed, looking around in awe, “you did all this for me?”

Patrick shrugged. “It’s not as much as I wanted to do. I had to improvise. Besides,” he went on as he stepped closer and slid his arms around Pete’s waist, “everyone looks good in candlelight. So, my intentions were only a little selfish. We can’t all look as good as you do, even in orange parking lot phosphorescents.”

“Oh my God, shut your fucking mouth,” Pete said with an eye roll. “Do we need to rehash that you pretty much had me reeled in the moment I set eyes on you?” He slid his hands up Patrick’s back, over his shirt.

“Yeah? What sealed it for you?” He brought a hand up to brush thick, black bangs away from honey-colored eyes.

“Your thighs, to be honest,” Pete confided, staring unabashedly at them. “I want to wrap your legs around my head and wear you like the crown you are.”

Patrick snorted and dropped his forehead to Pete’s shoulder, his whole body shuddering with voiceless laughter. “Wow, that’s a new one,” he managed when he finally caught his breath. “I mean, it’s, like, a good line,” he backpedaled when he saw Pete’s face fall, “but, just… no one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” His tone went gradually darker, more serious, the longer he looked into Pete’s eyes.

“What can I say? I have a way with words,” Pete deadpanned, his expression almost faraway, enthralled with every dimple and curve of Patrick’s face, tinged gold in the low light. Slowly, carefully, like Patrick might flinch or run or disappear, Pete reached up and pulled off his glasses, folded them, and them removed Patrick’s hat and put the glasses into it. Patrick smiled and took them, and then put them under the nightstand before returning to take Pete in his arms again.

“Frankly, I wanna see what else that mouth does besides talk,” Patrick whispered, and then closed the distance between them.

 _Finally_ , they both thought simultaneously.

Patrick’s mouth was the softest, warmest, most velvety thing Pete had ever felt. If he was honest, it felt like when he used to go down on Ash, but better. So much better. All at once, every blood cell in his body seemed to flood his crotch and he made an ugly, needy sound as he put a hand on the back of Patrick’s head and held on for dear life.

“God, your mouth,” he growled, panting like an animal, “it’s fucking  _perfect_.”

Patrick responded by smirking, then dipping down to press slow, sensual kisses to Pete’s neck. He ran the tip of his tongue over Pete’s throat and chin, then used it to trace the line of his upper lip, followed by the lower, cradling his face carefully throughout. Pete's breath picked up even more, and he tried to lunge forward again, but Patrick backed away and started unzipping Pete's hoodie. He slid it off and then cupped his hands on either side of Pete’s torso, slowly moving them upward and pulling his t-shirt with it. Pete raised his arms and let himself be undressed, then stood with one hand holding the opposite arm while Patrick just drank in the sight of him.

“Don’t even act like you don’t know how fucking gorgeous you are,” Patrick praised as he pulled Pete’s arms wide and ran his hands over the caramel skin and black ink.

“It’s not that,” Pete murmured softly. “I feel like… like you  _see_  me, you know? Like, you’re not just seeing—” he gestured at himself, “—all this. I mean, there’s more to me, but not everyone wants to know.”

“There’s more to everyone,” Patrick stated, like it should have been obvious, “and thank God, because without that, I’d be out of luck.”

Pete guided Patrick backward and sat him on the bed, then climbed onto his lap. With a wicked twinkle in his eye, he pulled Patrick’s t-shirt off and just gaped as he pawed at his impossibly soft, porcelain skin. The blush that colored his face had traveled down to his chest, just above a small patch of strawberry-gold hair right over his heart.

When he finally looked back into Patrick’s eyes, his face wore an almost pained expression. “Fucking stop it,” he whispered, then cupped his face and kissed his mouth. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us thinks so.” Patrick closed the conversation with another kiss, which sent Pete into a frenzy. His tongue seemed to be everywhere, his hands fisted in his fine hair. He toppled them over so he was fully on top of Patrick, grinding down mercilessly through their jeans, and trying to kiss him everywhere he could reach. His hands shook as he skitted them all over the body now pinned beneath him.

Patrick took Pete’s wrists gently in his hands and held them up. “OK,” he whispered as he sat up. “OK, Pete, relax.” It seemed like the most unlikely thing he should be saying right now, especially as he looked at Pete’s current state. His chest and shoulders were heaving, his mouth was hanging open in pure lust, and his hair was wild. Patrick could see his pulse ticking on the side of his neck, hard and fast.

Two things Patrick absolutely did  _not_  have in mind tonight.

“There’s that word again,” Pete whined. “I don’t wanna. I need you so bad.”

Patrick shook his head and put a hand on Pete’s cheek. “Baby, you’ve got me. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” He hooked an arm under Pete’s ass and used the other arm to push off so he could stand, carrying the darker man on his hips. Pete stared in amazement as he was turned around and gently deposited on the bed. Patrick lowered himself on top of him. “But I wanna take my time with you, in case you hadn’t noticed. I mean, who knows when I’ll ever get to be with someone like you again?”

“I do. Whenever the fuck you want,” Pete interjected. “I’ve… I’ve never had that happen before. You’re… so _powerful_.” He reached up and clutched Patrick’s shoulder, kissing him passionately.

“You’re light,” Patrick deflected when he could breathe again.

“No, really. I mean, I’ve always been with people who were… smaller than me? No one who could lift me, or hold me down, or hurt me.” Pete’s voice dropped an octave as he said this last part. “Are you gonna hurt me?” he asked mischievously, his eyes glittering.

“No,” Patrick replied simply. When Pete looked disappointed, he explained, “Not this time. Not tonight.” He tried to distract him by trailing kisses down his neck and chest. Pete fell into it easily, a hand in Patrick’s fine, strawberry hair and the other draped next to his own head as he undulated upward against the hot, perfect weight pinning him fast, keeping him from spinning off into oblivion. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered against Pete’s skin.

“God, yes.” Pete lifted his knees and tried to hook his ankles together behind Patrick’s back, tried to hold their bodies together as close as possible, but Patrick continued his slide downward, mouth open and hungrily tasting all that mocha skin and black ink.

He unbuttoned Pete’s sexy but very frustratingly tight skinny jeans and smiled when he was greeted with nothing but dark hair and the head of Pete’s dick.

“Commando?” he asked with a glance upward.

Pete got up on his elbows and shrugged. “Underwear’s a waste of time, especially right now,” he answered with a wink. After some struggling to get them down to his ankles, they realized he still had his boots on.

As Patrick pulled them off, Pete snickered. “That happened to me today when I got undressed in the room,” he explained amid his giggles.

He finally got Pete naked, still laughing, and God, but he was breathtaking. Patrick let his eyes rove over the slender, tan body, the tattoos, and the way his cock curled, long and dark, up toward the... what was it? _Bartskull, right_ , he reminded himself. Pete fell silent after a moment, his golden eyes expectant as he waited.

“Right,” Patrick murmured as he unbuttoned his own jeans, kicked off his shoes, and undressed himself fully. He fought the urge to cross his arms in front of himself, and just waited for Pete’s assessment of him.

From where he sat, Pete zeroed in on the one thing anyone else would look at first, the newly revealed cock that jutted from a patch of soft-looking red-brown pubic hair. It was flushed with blood and… _freaking enormous_. Not that his own was anything to sneeze at, thankyouverymuch, but…

Pete imagined where that was about to go. _Jesus, I’m only 5’6”_.

It was bobbing a bit, not yet fully hard, but already so long and thick around Pete was unsure he could close his hand around it. Still, it looked strong, solid, _undeniable_ … it was everything he’d been drawn to about the rest of Patrick’s body, and he suddenly, desperately wanted it all over him, inside and out.

Pete was so preoccupied with his thoughts about the most fucking spectacular cock he’d ever seen (not that he’d seen _so_ many, admittedly, but still, this thing was _glorious_ ) that he almost didn’t notice its owner descending over him again, pressing kisses up his calves, his knees, his thighs…

“No, wait, don’t,” he gasped out just as Patrick’s mouth was getting dangerously close to his own dick, already throbbing and needy.

Patrick shot back up onto his haunches, hands up. “What? What is it? Are you OK?”

“Oh, yeah, no, I’m fucking great,” Pete tried to reassure him with a hazy-eyed smile. “I just… if you put your mouth on me like that, I’m gonna come in, like, two seconds, and, uh, I just kinda wanna save that for later.”

Patrick sighed with relief. “Oh, good. OK.” He readjusted and laid himself so that they were level with each other, their cocks sliding against each other perfectly. Pete watched, entranced, as light and dark swirled together, and reveled in the silken feel of Patrick’s length nearly taking over his own. It made him think of his whole body being taken over, being _taken care of_. It also made him think of—

“Hey,” Patrick’s honey voice caught Pete’s attention, and he looked up into his face. Patrick was smiling, so soft and affectionate, as he brought a finger up to swipe at the corner of Pete’s mouth. “You’re drooling, baby. Did you want something?” His tone was playful, ever-so-slightly taunting. When Pete darted his eyes downward and licked his lips, the message was anything but subtle. Patrick followed his gaze downward, then looked back into those golden eyes. “Oh? Wanting to put that lovely mouth to good use?”

“Yeah. I want it. Please,” Pete begged. When Patrick moved to get off of him, Pete grabbed his upper arm. “No, wait. Stay like this. I want you over me. I want you to give it to me.”

Patrick considered for a moment, searching Pete’s face for any trace of doubt, and finding none, carefully repositioned himself so his knees bracketed Pete’s head, his weight on Pete’s chest. As soon as he did, Pete curled his arms up around Patrick’s thighs, and buried his face in the junction of his groin. He breathed in the musky scent ( _Patrick’s scent_ ) deeply and kissed up and down each thigh, eyes closed in worship.

“God, Patrick, I wanna taste you, please,” he mumbled as he trailed the tip of his nose up and down the prize now presented right in front of his face, hot and full and smelling so _fucking_ good.

“Yeah?” Patrick sighed, one hand braced on the headboard and the other holding the base of his cock. He was trying to sound cool, but he knew it was more amazement.

Pete stared up into Patrick’s eyes through his lashes, mouth open as the head was traced over his lips teasingly. He darted his tongue out brushed at it, relishing the way Patrick’s breath shuddered. He was rewarded by the lower half of Patrick’s cock being slid slowly, decadently into his mouth, thick and weighty and salty-sweet, then gingerly moving out, then in, only half an inch or so. Pete moaned hungrily, jutting his chin and gazing up with adoration, with fucking _gratitude_.

Patrick put a hand on the side of Pete’s face. “So gorgeous,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.” He hadn’t intended to seem like he was praising him, in the sense of ‘playing’ like Pete wanted, but the way Pete rolled back his eyes and groaned, gasping hungrily and clutching at Patrick’s thighs as though he were a life raft in open waters, suddenly made his own intent less important than the sight of Pete so given over and the feel of his warm, wet mouth on him. Every nerve ending below his waist went up in flames and he had to pull back, clutching himself tightly and breathing heavily.

“’Trick?” Pete asked. His face was a mask of concern as he tried to lift his head.

_Oh God he hates me, I fucked it up, I went overboard, I got too needy, he doesn’t want me anymore…_

“If I’m gonna get to fuck you tonight, I’d better save _that_ for later,” Patrick panted, even managing a little chuckle. His face was red, and sweat beaded his hairline. His hair stuck up from his forehead in a unified wave, and his broad shoulders moved in time with his labored breathing.

Pete was bowled over by his beauty. _I’ve never wanted anyone or anything so bad in my life as I want this person, God, Universe, whoever, please don’t let me fuck this up…_

He bit his lip and tried not to let his flood of praises and desperation come spilling out of his mouth, and instead waited while Patrick slid back down his body. He nosed carefully at Pete’s cock, throbbing, needy, and already leaking, but bypassed it with his mouth when Pete shuddered and whined at just that brief contact.

When he got halfway off the bed to reach for the nightstand drawer, his hands were trembling ever-so-slightly. He pulled out two condoms ( _just in case,_ his anxiety whispered, _gotta be prepared_ ) and a tube of lube. Pete’s fists balled up and released as he watched, pupils huge.

“When’s the last time you did this?” Patrick asked as he placed a pillow under Pete’s ass.

Pete shrugged and looked away. “Five, maybe six years ago. I dunno. We were both pretty drunk and… it wasn’t that great.” He was dismissive, but there was a tinge of sadness in it.

“Well, I hope I can make up for that.” Patrick coated the fingers of his left hand, maybe a little too generously, but he was determined to be careful with Pete; he still saw him kind of like a wild animal that might flee at the first sign of danger.

Said wild animal (or mythological creature or golden god or any number of worshipful titles Patrick’s mind had bestowed) was staring with a perplexed expression. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Um, prepping you?” Patrick replied, equally confused. “I mean, no matter what, this is gonna be uncomfortable at first, but... wait a minute, like, are you saying no one did this for you before?” Pete shook his head, and Patrick gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, that makes sense. At least now I know how low the fucking bar is,” he muttered.

“Wait, what’s the matter? Is it me?” Pete was up on his elbows, and there was that fight-or-flight response Patrick feared.

He blinked and shook his head in utter disbelief. “You? Of course not. How can you even ask that? I’m just… I’m sorry that happened to you. Y’know, just kinda, no care. No consideration. Just, like… _uurrrrgggghhhh_!” He made a frustrated noise in his throat and clawed his hands as though he would use them on… whomever had hurt Pete. “Anyway,” he went on, softening his tone, “I plan on making this as good as I can, and one of the ways you do that is with _proper prep_.” He enunciated this last very adamantly with punctuating nods of his head.

Pete put on a mock-serious expression and nodded curtly back in response.

“OK, I’m gonna start with one finger. It will feel strange, but it’ll get better. I mean, I hope. If it doesn’t, if it hurts too much, or you hate it, tell me—”

“And you promise you’ll stop, right?” Pete cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do.” The reply was as solemn as Patrick’s eyes on him. “Just breathe, baby.”

Pete stopped kidding around and lay back as the pad of an index finger pressed gently at his rim. He took slow, deep breaths, unconsciously mimicking Patrick’s respirations, while that finger slowly circled and breached the tight ring of muscle. It wasn’t _good_ —not yet anyway—but it wasn’t bad, either, he decided. It slid in to the knuckle without much resistance, and Patrick drew back and returned with the second finger alongside the first, scissoring as he worked in and out. Pete winced a little, but soon adjusted to the weird burning, stretching sensation. When he got three fingers inside, he began bending them upward at different spots, and he seemed very intensely focused, like he was looking for something.

“Can I help you?” Pete asked sarcastically.

“I doubt it,” Patrick retorted, “especially if I’m the only one who’s bothered with this part,” then, he went back to his careful probing. When he finally pressed on that precious bundle of nerves, Pete yelped in surprise as his entire pelvis shot off the bed and his cock jumped and throbbed.

“What was that? How did you do that?” he asked in shock.

Patrick smirked, incredibly self-satisfied. “What? You mean, this?” He nudged it lightly again. Pete’s eyes rolled back, his mouth fell open, and he began grinding and maneuvering his body, trying to get more contact on that wonderful place inside him that had just been discovered.

 _Fuck Vasco de Gama_ , he thought wildly, _Patrick is the King’s new Royal Explorer._

"That would be your prostate. Serves many important functions in the male body, but, if you ask me, this is the most important one." He curled his fingers one last time and relished watching Pete's body undulate at the feeling. 

"Shit," Pete gasped as Patrick carefully pulled his fingers out. He gave a little moan at the loss and went up on his elbows again. "If you can make bottoming feel like that, I'll never fucking leave you," he pronounced breathlessly.

"I'll do what I can," Patrick mumbled as he rolled the condom on and covered it with slick. Pete watched, enamored, as he stroked himself.

Patrick held himself delicately. "Lift your knees," he instructed, and Pete used his hands to hold his legs up and expose his hole, still wet and just slightly stretched. Patrick blew out a breath, then looked up into those topaz-twinkling eyes. “Ready?” he asked, and Pete nodded before letting his head fall back.

The first press of wet latex against him made him inhale sharply, although nothing was really wrong.

“Relax,” Patrick cooed, then began circling against Pete’s entrance. It gave gradually, and clung tight around him like nothing he’d ever felt. When the head was fully inside and the muscle closed around his shaft, it was Patrick’s turn to stop to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes closed. After a few deep breaths, he looked at Pete, lain out before him and totally vulnerable, and managed, “You OK?”

“Yes,” Pete answered. “It’s still weird, but not bad.”

Patrick smiled widely, and it lit up his whole face. “Good. That’s good.” He pushed the rest of the way in, watching Pete’s reaction the whole time. When he was fully seated against his ass, he hooked his left arm under Pete’s right knee and rocked their bodies upward slightly.

Pete moaned as his eyes went wide, the pressure on his prostate sending shockwaves through his body. “Christ. Do that again.”

Patrick rolled against him again, and set a rhythm that way, never backing more than an inch or so out of Pete’s body before coming back forward, nudging that incredible place inside him that Pete had never even fucking dreamed could do anything like this in his life. He held onto Patrick’s back as tightly as he could and let his free leg fall on Patrick’s flank, silently apologizing to any neighbors as he cried out with abandon.

“You feel so fucking good,” Patrick growled, never losing pace. “Gonna make me come so fucking hard, aren’t you?” He would have been hard pressed to know where the hell he’d come up with something like that, but the way Pete just whined _yeah, God yeah I wanna, I wanna make you feel so fucking good_ before returning to wordless moans and whimpers drove Patrick dangerously close to the edge already.

The tight heat massaging his cock was almost more than he could take, and Pete looked hotter than anything he’d ever seen—his eyeliner smudged under his eyes, dark hair springing up from his head, mouth hanging open, just totally lost to the moment.

“Touch me,” Pete begged as he trailed his tongue over Patrick’s pretty, pink nipple, making his eyes squint shut and a whimper escape his lips. “Please, I’m so close.”

Patrick put a hand on Pete’s cheek and kissed his mouth. “Anything you want, baby.” He took the hand from behind Pete’s knee, still slick, and began stroking Pete’s aching cock.

Immediately, Pete threw his head back and began wailing as he came, fierce and sudden, spurting on himself and Patrick.

The force of it and the strength of Pete’s body squeezing down on him was all it took to make stars explode behind Patrick’s eyes as he thrust deep in and came, pulsing and still nudging Pete’s prostate.

It was the perfect sparkle of just a little too much but just enough, and Pete laughed when his dick twitched a bit from it. That made him tighten again, and Patrick sucked in a deep breath, then let it out.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered before kissing Pete’s succulent mouth.

Pete nodded in agreement. “Best ever.”

Patrick cocked an eyebrow. “You or me?”

“Yes.” Pete squirmed and gave a mischievous half-smile.

With a laugh, he withdrew gingerly and walked on wobbly legs to the trash, then tossed the condom and returned to the bed. Pete’s eyes had slipped shut and he had a dreamy smile on his face. Patrick covered him with the sheet and said, “I’m just going across the hall to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Mkay,” Pete mumbled. He drifted for a bit, he wasn’t sure how long, before Patrick returned and was pulling the sheet off.

“C’mon,” he prodded. Pete forced his eyes open to see Patrick smiling warmly at him, “I have one more thing for you.”

“More?” He couldn’t fathom more than what he’d just experienced. He knew he’d be feeling this for a week, at least. What more could Patrick do for him? Or to him?

When he still didn’t move, Patrick pulled his wrists and helped him up, then supported him while he limped along. _Yeah, this is gonna be a recovery process_ , he thought.

They entered the bathroom, and Pete gaped at the full bubble bath.

“I thought this might help with some of the soreness,” Patrick explained.

Pete felt tears welling up. “This… all this… you wanted to do _more_ than this?”

“Oh, come on,” he approached and took Pete’s hands. “It’s not so much.” He stepped in and then maneuvered Pete into the hot water with him, seating him on his thigh instead of directly on the porcelain. Pete winced a bit, but then let himself go limp and rested his temple against Patrick’s cheek and sighed at the feel of those strong arms around him.

“Thank you,” he said softly while he pulled at Patrick’s chest hair.

Patrick chuckled through his nose. “It’s really not so much,” he repeated.

Pete lifted his head to look at him. “No, it is.” He almost lost his train of thought at the sight of Patrick’s eyes, like seawater, with gold buried in them and everything, but went on. “No one’s ever… prepped me, or found my prostate, or run me a bath, or given me a massage—well, ok Gabe rubbed my shoulders a lot—but, like, not a… a girlfriend, or guy, y’know, that I’ve, like, _been with_. No one ever cared about making _me_ feel good, not like this. So, thank you.”

Patrick slid a hand to the back of Pete’s head and kissed him, trailing his thumb along Pete’s cheekbone. He finished with a peck on the end of his nose. “It’s my pleasure. And you deserve it.”

“You don’t know that.” Pete’s face fell, as did his tone.

Patrick smiled. “Well, you said you’d stick around if the sex was good, right?” He ruffled Pete’s suddenly-curly hair.

Pete nodded and smiled. “You’ve ruined me for pretty much everyone else, ever, I’m pretty sure.”

“So, I’ll have plenty of time to convince you otherwise,” Patrick concluded.

“Maybe,” Pete replied with a shrug, “but not tonight. Not this time.” There was a twinkle of playfulness as he quoted Patrick’s words back at him.

“Another night, then. I’m tired now, anyway.”

Pete yawned in agreement, and they got out of the tub. Patrick dried them both off, despite Pete’s protests that he could dry himself.

“Let me take care of you,” came the gentle admonishment.

The two exhausted men waddled back to the bedroom together. They blew out the candles, crawled back into bed, and then Patrick pulled the sheet and blanket over them.

“Well, I’m definitely taken care of for tonight,” Pete slurred, half asleep.

Patrick drew up against his back and held Pete against his chest. “Good. That was my goal.”

They drifted off to sleep, content in each other’s company, and for once, nothing else on their minds.


	11. Chapter 11

Pete drifted back up to consciousness from a deep and dreamless slumber, the kind of totally blank tranquility that seldom, if ever, blessed him, even when he could sleep. It left the impression of almost no time passing between when he’d dropped off wrapped in Patrick’s warmth and this moment, where the sunlight through his eyelids cast his field of vision red, and he was suddenly very afraid that maybe everything that he remembered from last night had been some incredibly vivid, very hot, very fulfilling wet dream.

But then the smell of sex—sweat, pheromones, latex, and _PatrickPatrickPatrick_ —faintly laced with vanilla and lavender hit him, and Pete sighed with relief, eyes still closed, as he ran a cautious systems check of his body.

He curled and stretched his toes, swiveled his feet up and down on their hinges, and then tried to straighten his legs a bit. His quads definitely complained as though he had just run a marathon, but his entire lower torso, front and back, felt as if Patrick had pretty much impaled Pete onto his dick and then run that marathon with Pete dangling off of him like a hood ornament.

That mental image made him chuckle to himself, and that made his abs groan in response. _At least I know it was real_ , he thought a bit giddily, despite the fact that he noticed Patrick was not still clinging to him. He rolled over halfway and looked behind him. Patrick, or a lump that appeared to be him, was curled up under just the sheet, the bedspread forgotten, a tuft of reddish hair visible on the pillow. His silhouette rose and fell evenly.

_He’s still here._

_Of course he’s still here_ , a second voice inside him chided. _It’s **his** apartment. Where else would he go?_

Pete rolled his eyes at himself and tried to settle back into his former position, but his bladder suddenly had other plans. As carefully as he could, wincing here and there but biting back any audible response to the soreness, he crept out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

After washing his hands, he looked around for a towel to dry them, and then noticed they hadn’t drained the bathtub last night. The towel he’d used last night still hung on the rack by the tub, so he used that, his eyes on the leftover water.

The suds were gone flat, of course, but the dim light from this side of the house gave the surface a multi-colored sheen—pink, yellow, green, lavender—almost like mother-of-pearl. Like antifreeze on the pavement.

 _God, we’re so gay even our bathwater is rainbow._ Pete smiled, and found himself wondering how much of whatever was left in the bath was from his body and how much was from Patrick’s, whether their the skin cells they’d shed here were living happily _under da sea_ , mingling and dancing together.

Then, his new favorite voice cut through his thoughts. “Hey.”

******

When Patrick awoke, naturally and totally relaxed, he immediately rolled over to greet his lover, hopefully his new boyfriend, only to find the other side of the bed empty. He panicked for a moment, then heard the toilet flush and sighed with relief.

_He’s still here._

He thought back to last night—Pete so pliant under him, so hot and tight—and felt his exhausted, still-spent cock give a valiant twitch. Unfortunately, that also made him notice that he needed to use the bathroom, too. What was keeping Pete?

Patrick got up and threw on a t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear from his laundry basket and went in search of his guest (and some relief for his bladder).

The bathroom door was wide open, and Pete stood in the middle of the room, still naked, staring into the tub. Patrick had the momentary presence of mind to wonder whether he had drained it last night, but it was all gone as soon as he drank in the sight of the other man.

His physique was slim, compact, and toned—not super-jacked or anything, but strong and athletic. Even as relatively small as he was, the curve of his shoulders, the black tattoos crawling up and down his arms, and the flat planes of his torso all announced his masculinity without question. But, at the same time, his small build, the fine cut of his collarbones and hip bones, the delicate links of the thorns around his neck, the fall of his hair when it was flattened, and the eyeliner around his calico eyes all revealed something more fragile, vulnerable, more classically feminine. Something magical, precious. It almost dared the world to see him, to get close, to… to hurt him. Like he’d asked for last night.

And Patrick had wanted to comply, wanted to grab just a little tighter, fuck just a little harder, make Pete scream his name. Still, he would wait. Not too soon, not before Pete trusted him, not before he could get it really _right_. Patrick swore to himself he would never _hurt-him_ -hurt-him, though, not like the others did. Only how Pete wanted him to. _Only how Pete would want it. Ever._

Unable to conjure the words to go with his thoughts, all images and sounds and feelings without any really good lyrics, he said the simplest one:

“Hey.”

Pete started a little at the sound, and turned to follow where it had come from.

Patrick stood in the doorway of the bathroom in a white t-shirt and blue boxer-briefs, hair sticking up on one side as he palmed the back of his neck. His face was still pink from sleeping, and a small strip of his creamy belly was exposed where his shirt rode up. Pete almost couldn’t believe this sleepy guy with messy hair and a bashful look in his eyes that made him appear maybe sixteen at most, had pretty much rocked his entire universe last night.

Every butterfly in the universe took flight in Pete’s stomach in that instant, and he felt his knees getting weak at the thought. It couldn’t be real. This absolute angel couldn’t possibly be true, couldn’t possibly be into him. Pete felt quite certain all of a sudden that he did not deserve this… this _caring_.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Pete stammered in response. “I, uh, needed to pee, and then, I just, uh… kinda spaced, I guess. But I did. Um, pee, that is. So, I’m just gonna get out of your way.”

He crept across the tight space to where Patrick stood, and tried to make himself as small as possible when he slid by, but was stopped by a strong hand on his side.

“Hey,” Patrick said again simply. Pete said nothing, only stared in confusion (and a little nervousness). Seeming to sense his uncertainty, Patrick gathered Pete against him in a firm but careful hug, kissed his cheek, then pulled back and smiled. “Good morning,” he murmured, and hoped that settled any doubts.

 “Um, morning,” Pete mumbled back, his brow furrowed.

“So, I was thinking: why don’t you go get dressed and—”

Pete cut him off. “Yeah, um, I’ll get out of your hair, no worries. You probably have things to do today, and so, um, yeah.” He started to maneuver out of Patrick’s embrace, only to be held a little tighter. His body was still warm from sleep, and Pete noticed right then that he was freezing (duh, he was naked), and welcomed the feel of Patrick’s arms around him.

“I was _thinking_ ,” Patrick resumed emphatically, “that I could take you to breakfast, if you want?”

Pete tilted his head, suddenly looking for all the world like a golden retriever being told it was time for walkies. “Breakfast?” he asked, almost as if he didn’t know what that was, then shook his head as if to clear it and gave a weak laugh. “Um, yeah, breakfast would be good.”

Patrick smiled, wide and bright, and Pete couldn’t help noticing how his right eye crinkled up just a bit more than his left when he did. His heart definitely did a little flip.

_He’s so good. So fucking **good**._

He nodded and then went to the bedroom to recover his clothes while Patrick went to the bathroom. When he held up his skinny jeans, he groaned, and was surprised at a dark gray pair of sweatpants landing in his lap.

Patrick stood over him with another pair of plain sweatpants in his hand. “I thought those might be more comfortable than trying to get back into your jeans,” he explained. “I know they’re not the height of fashion, or anything, but…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“Thanks,” Pete replied, in awe. He pulled them on, followed by his socks and boots, then fished his shirt off the floor and pulled it on. The sweatpants were soft and cozy, not unlike Patrick himself. Pete officially didn’t care how he looked in them; he never wanted to wear anything else.

“You can even borrow my toothbrush,” Patrick hinted, and Pete got it right away. He got himself upright and went back to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Upon his return to the bedroom, Patrick rewarded him with a fervent kiss on the mouth. Pete moaned and melted into it, letting the shorter man hold him up while his knees buzzed and threatened to buckle under him. “I got you, baby,” he whispered when he pulled back. “Come on, let’s get you fed.” Pete grinned, a bit sleazy, and Patrick smirked. “You know, again.”

They went out to a diner around the corner from Patrick’s apartment, and were seated in a booth near the back. Pete winced and hissed as he sat, and Patrick winced apologetically with him. While they waited for their food, Patrick sipped his coffee and rolled his mug between his hands.

“So, this isn’t normally how I do this,” he began awkwardly.

“What do you mean?” Pete asked, flinching visibly.

Patrick chuckled. “Well, I mean, I was gonna take you out first, y’know, talk, get to know each other *before*, y’know…” he trailed off and took a huge gulp from his cup.

“You mean, before you fucked my brains out?” Pete asked coldly just as the waitress was setting down their food. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open, but she said nothing and walked away. Patrick stared in shock, both at his tone and his bluntness. Pete went on, “Yeah, I get it. You’re a good person, good soul, all until Pete Wentz came along sluttin’ it up and ruined your fine, virtuous self.” Patrick blinked slowly at him. Pete smirked and nodded knowingly. “Yeah. Got you all dirty, didn’t I?” His tone was snide.

Patrick took a deep breath. “Pete, you didn’t do anything wrong, or trick me, or make me do anything I didn’t want to do. I _wanted_ you. I still want you.”

Pete scoffed. “Sure, you do, for now.”

“Don’t do this, please?” Patrick pleaded.

“Do what? Tell the truth? Patrick, don’t kid yourself. Before long, you’ll get tired of me, resent me, hate everything that goes on in my head. I’m too much, and I know that.” Pete shook his head and looked away, his pancakes still untouched.

“No, you don’t. Not even a little bit.” Patrick tried to reach for Pete’s hand, but he pulled back.

“I just hope the fuck was worth it,” Pete muttered and stood from the table, face contorting with the discomfort of it.

“Hey,” Patrick snapped, grabbing Pete’s wrist. Pete only glanced back up at Patrick before looking at his feet. “Hey, you don’t just get to hurl accusations like that and walk away.” They had gained the attention of the whole restaurant. Patrick was trying hard not to blush, not to take away from his righteous indignation, but it was tough with everyone staring.

Pete didn’t seem to care. “It’s not just an accusation if it’s true,” he spat, eyes fiery, then yanked his wrist back and stalked out of the restaurant. Patrick threw some cash on the table and rushed out the door after Pete, but by the time he got outside, Pete had vanished.


	12. Chapter 12

Gabe had been throwing together the bass line for his latest song when his cell rang.

“Ay, Patrick, _amigo, ¿como estas?_ ” he answered jovially, but his face fell immediately as he listened to his friend relaying the events of his encounter with Pete. “What?” he asked, his voice quiet and steely.

Erin peered at him over the top of her computer screen from where she sat at the kitchen island. Her expression was mostly straight, but clearly ready to spring into pure fury based on her husband’s tone. She didn’t like what that coldness implied.

“He did _what_?” Gabe bit out around gritted teeth. He squinted his eyes shut and rubbed at them with the fingers of one long hand while he sighed, annoyed. 

Erin raised her eyebrows and let her mouth fall open, a clear _What the FUCK_ if ever there were one.

“Oh fuck-a-doodle-doo, _esté cabrón le cagó completamente_ ,” he grumbled. “Huh? Oh, nothing, just complaining. Anyway, don’t worry yourself, _mijo_. Gabey-baby’s gonna take care of this.”

******

Pete was lying on the couch, one arm over his eyes, listening to the DVD menu for _Lost Boys_ repeat over and over, as his brain dredged up every old argument about why he was the worst, why he’d be alone forever, and why he deserved exactly that. Even Jami Gertz’s laughable acting hadn’t been enough to cheer him up.

A violent pounding on his door startled him out of his self-flagellation and sent him tumbling onto the floor.

“Peter, you’d better open up right fucking now, _capullo_ ,” Gabe’s voice, thickly accented, warned from the doorstep. Pete cringed, then cracked the door just enough to peer through with both eyes.

Gabe didn’t even give him a chance to say anything before shoving the door with all of his decidedly impressive force, considering how willowy he was. It banged into Pete’s shoulder and knocked him back onto his ass as Gabe towered over him.

“ _Pendejo_ , you have so’ serious fuckin’ ‘splainin to do!” the taller man roared.

Pete said nothing, just cowered on the floor at the feet of his lanky best friend. He looked up in what he hoped was some level of defiance, but mostly it was just shame. When Gabe lapsed into Spanish, it was for one reason only: he was fucking furious.

And Pete knew he deserved it. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, willing some brilliant explanation to spill forth from his muddled brain, but none came. As Gabe advanced, Pete retreated across the floor until his back hit the couch. Once there, he hugged his knees, dropped his forehead onto them, and just awaited his reaming.

 _My second reaming this week_ , he thought, and gave a harsh little laugh.

“This ain’t funny,” Gabe chided.

“No, it isn’t,” Pete agreed, bitter and resigned. “Not even a little bit.”

Gabe sat on the floor with him. “What the fuck is your problem, _cabrón_?” His tone was a bit gentler, but still carrying a lot of disappointment. “Patrick’s a good guy. Like, seriously good.”

Pete still wouldn’t look at him. “Well, then he’ll have no problem finding another seriously good guy and having a seriously good relationship full of puppies and flowers and sunshine.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, _tarado_ , get over yourself,” Gabe scoffed. “He _likes_ you, man. He went out of his way to do everything for you, and this is how you treat him? Do you know he called me crying? Fucking _crying_ over you, dude.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Pete sighed with a wince. “He should literally never cry over anyone ever, least of all me.”

“You got that right, asshole, but here we are, so you’d better fucking fix this, and fast.” Gabe stood up, straightened his unusually muted t-shirt and shorts, and then headed for the door.

Pete stood up, too. “But, I don’t have his number,” he whined.

Gabe stopped, hand on the doorknob, and muttered, “You fucked the guy but didn’t get his number?”

“Well, we didn’t really get that far, and technically, _he_ f—”

“Stop talking,” Gabe snapped with only a partial turn of his face toward Pete, who immediately complied with an audible click of his teeth. “First of all, you really need to evaluate your life choices if you think sex somehow isn’t as far as getting someone’s digits. Second of all, if he didn’t give it to you, I’m definitely not giving it to you now without his permission. Third,” he paused, and now looked fully over his shoulder, “you’re Pete Wentz. Since when has something like that ever stopped you?” He smirked and then opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight just beyond. Pete cringed and practically hissed at it as Gabe closed the door with a chuckle. "Fix this now, man," he warned through the door as he walked away.


	13. Chapter 13

As Patrick put fresh linens on his massage table, his mind flashed unwillingly on Pete lain there, sheepish grin on his face, with the support under his ankles instead of his knees. He laughed before he could stop himself, but that soon lapsed into a choked sob and blurry eyes, hot with tears. How could he possibly have thought that jumping right into bed with someone, especially someone as capricious, as gorgeous, as _dangerous_ as Pete, could possibly have been a good idea?

 _I’m just a notch in his bedpost_ , Patrick thought sourly. _It’s not like he actually cared about me. Stupid, short, fat, nerdy Patrick Stumph. I was an idiot._

Still, the look on Pete’s face, the way he’d responded to every touch, the clear hurt in his eyes when he rebuked Patrick for his imagined crimes…  Patrick just couldn’t believe someone who seemed so vulnerable, even a little afraid, could possibly be so cavalier about hurting another human being, especially after what they’d done.

What they’d _shared_.

How else could Patrick explain crying over someone he’d barely known a day before said someone had broken his heart and walked away?

 _No, he ran away._ Patrick could reason that it was most likely Captain Fear at the wheel of this tugboat, but it was hard to embrace that as gospel.

That thought then led to further self-flagellation over the way he’d showered Pete with tenderness and affection, like they were soulmates, or newlyweds, or something. Could he possibly have been any more overbearing?

_Too much. It was too much. I’m too much._

There was a knock at the door.  “Patrick? Your next client is here,” Gracie said timidly as she slowly opened it.

He sighed heavily. “OK, I’ll be right out,” he mumbled, then straightened himself to his full 5’4” and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt to flatten it a bit. He removed his baseball cap, passed a hand through his hair, replaced it, and then began furiously cleaning his glasses.

Gracie cleared her throat. “Um, are you OK?” She winced preemptively, as though she knew the answer already.

“Yeah,” Patrick conceded with a firm nod of his head. He could do this. He put his glasses on and followed her out to the waiting area.

“Um, Lewis Kingston?” he called, since the only person he saw was one of his coworker’s regulars, an older lady named Madge, or Mabel, or maybe it was Peggy. Definitely not Lewis Kingston, though. When another person arose from a chair with its back to him, his mouth fell open before he could stop it.

Pete stood there in a painted-on lavender polo with an open neck that revealed just a peek of that necklace of thorns, and the hem rode up slightly from his damnably tight black jeans. His hair was meticulously flat-ironed over eyes even more meticulously made-up with black eyeliner and shimmering purple eyeshadow. He’d painted his nails black, and finished the look with purple Chucks.

He looked completely fucking _delectable_.

Patrick slowly closed his mouth, hoping the drool wasn’t visible. He didn’t want to give even the slightest idea that he was anything but seriously pissed off right now. Which he most definitely was.

“What are you doing here, Pete?” Patrick asked while hardly even moving his mouth. Pete would know; he was watching it intently.

He shrugged and gave what he hoped was an irresistible _aw shucks_ grin and replied, “Well, I really needed to talk to you, and you never gave me your number—”

“Because you insulted me and walked off before we ever got to exchange anything other than—” Patrick stopped himself short and chanced a look over at Madge/Mabel/Peggy, who was reading a book with a serene look on her face, appearing to be oblivious to the drama unfolding less than fifteen feet away from her. Pete just grinned wider at the implication of that unfinished sentence. “Anyway,” Patrick continued, “I can’t talk now. I have a client, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Pete spread his arms and gave a knowing look while he waited for his would-be massage therapist to catch on. As realization dawned, Patrick began shaking his head. “No. No, Pete. You can’t just… how did you even make the appointment?” Another light went on in his brain. “Gracie?” he said sternly as he turned toward her seat, but it was mysteriously empty, the chair still spinning with the force of the exit of its occupant. Patrick gave a huge, put-upon sigh and pressed his fingers to his temples. “This is unbelievable.”

“Look, I already paid for the hour, so maybe we should, you know, go in there?” Pete gestured feebly at the door to the massage rooms. “It’s more private?” He palmed the back of his neck and shifted his weight back and forth.

Patrick clenched his jaw, blinked determinedly, then muttered, “Fine,” and led Pete to his room. As soon as the door was closed, Pete bent at the waist (with his back to Patrick, of course), and started to untie a shoelace. “Don’t you dare remove a single stitch of clothing, not even your shoes,” Patrick pronounced crisply, prompting Pete to straighten up slowly, then turn and prop himself on the wall by his elbow and a hand on the side of his head. This, of course, made his polo ride up even more on one side, and Patrick pointedly did not look at it.

Pete put on a fake-innocent puppy-dog look. “How are you gonna rub me down with all my clothes on?”

“I’m not,” Patrick retorted, incredulous. “Talk about the definition of insanity.”

“That’s pretty much me,” Pete scoffed, pushing off the wall and halfway turning away from Patrick with an eye roll.

“I just meant, like, coming in here with a fake name trying to seduce me all over again… That’s what got us where we are now.” Patrick sat on the table and looked at his hands.

“There are worse places to be than alone together in a dark room,” Pete murmured as he also sat, but kept a safe distance. “And it’s not, by the way.”

Patrick cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, no?”

“No. My full name is: Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz, the Third.” He ticked each name off on his fingers as he spoke. “Not fake.”

“That’s not what I thought you meant, but… Christ, the Third? You mean to tell me there are two other people walking around with that name besides you?” Patrick shook his head.

Pete shrugged. “That we know of. But, the other part, you’re probably right about that.” He looked down and fiddled with the edge of the sheet.

“I just… I don’t understand how you could be so cold. It’s like you became this totally different person in the morning from who you were the night before.” Patrick curled in on himself a little, and Pete felt his heart breaking at seeing him so small and unsure.

“I went to sleep a poet and I woke up a fraud,” Pete mumbled, filled with disgust at himself. “Story of my life.”

Patrick stood and started pacing. “Well, I guess that just makes me a footnote, huh? Barely even worth perusing?” He stopped, crossed his arms, and stared at Pete. “Why did you come here? What was the point of this, besides to rehash what happened and make me feel even shittier for not having seen through you sooner? Or were you gonna try and distract me with your… your pretty eyes and gorgeous smile and your fucking _body_ and just, like, hope I’d forget how badly you hurt me? Huh? What the hell were you thinking, waltzing into my work trying to charm the pants off me _again_?” He leaned forward a bit and hissed, “Answer me.”

The other man recoiled. “I know, I know I hurt you, but just please believe that I was trying to save you a whole fuckton of misery. And yeah, myself, too, by getting out now, before I _really_ fell for you, and before you saw too much.”

This was met with a roll of sea-blue eyes. “That doesn’t really answer my question, but you seem bound and determined that we would never work out, or something, but like, who can ever know that for sure? You can’t know if you don’t try, Pete. I was willing to try. Hell, you won’t even _apologize_ to me, let alone explain yourself to me.”

Pete looked away. Bitterly, he pronounced, “There’s nothing else to know. You already got all the good stuff there is to get from me.”

“That’s only because you wouldn’t even give it a chance. You just used me and left.” He narrowed his eyes at the pitiful form sitting on his table.

“But this is all I have.” His voice was small, almost inaudible. He stood up and faced his accuser, arms spread. “The pretty eyes, the gorgeous smile, the fucking _body_ , the things that make you wanna look,” he stepped closer and reached for Patrick’s hand, but the smaller man was too quick, and evaded the contact. Pete shrugged and continued, “the things that make you wanna touch, that’s the best of me. I look good on paper, in black and white, flat on my back, in 2D. It’s that pesky fucking third dimension that sends everyone running. You don’t deserve that; you shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

“OK, well, first of all, I’m an adult, and I can choose for myself what I will and won’t put up with—”

Pete scoffed. “You’re just this side of a kid.”

“—and _you_ don’t get to decide that for me,” Patrick finished emphatically. “Especially considering how willing you were to give up control to me that night.” His eyes flashed with something that could have been anger, or excitement, or a little of both. “Don’t you fucking try to infantilize me now, you cowardly prick. If you were that worried about hurting me or fucking things up or whatever it was, why did you even… why would you…” He trailed off with a little hitch in his breath.

“I don’t have a good answer,” Pete admitted as he looked at his shoes. His tongue felt like lead. “I just… I wanted you, like, probably more than I’ve ever wanted anything ever in my life. When I didn’t have all that getting me high and making me think everything could be OK, the… reality hit me, I guess.” He hugged himself and stepped back.

Patrick stepped forward, refusing to give an inch, but still staying an arm’s length away. “Everything could have been OK, Pete,” he murmured softly.

“Can they still?” Pete asked after a beat, his eyes suddenly full of hope.

“I don’t know,” Patrick sighed. “Do you even want them to be?”

“Of course I do. Why else would I be here?” He reached for Patrick again, and this time, the therapist relented, allowing his hand to be molded around Pete’s narrow waist, thumb tracing the hipbone that jutted just over the waist of his jeans.

Patrick shrugged, eyes transfixed on the sharp contrast between his ivory hand and Pete’s caramel skin. Again, without meaning to, his mind went to the way his hands had looked holding Pete’s body beneath him that night in his bed. “Maybe just to tell me you’re sorry you ever let me think you’d really want someone like me for more than just, like, to use for a night and throw away?” His tone was bitter.

Pete flinched visibly. “But I _do_. I want you so much, but, Patrick, I’m terrified of _you_ throwing _me_ away the first time I don’t get out of bed for a week or more and lash out at you when you try to help. I mean, if I already care about you this much...” He paused, cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, and said, “Wait, what do you mean, ‘someone like’ you?”

Another shrug. “Someone, like, not nearly as gorgeous as you? Someone short, chubby, shy, dorky…”

“Oh my God, stop it. Just stop your stupid, self-deprecating mouth right now.” Pete shook his head, his eyes full of nearly painful disbelief at what he was hearing.

Patrick finally looked into those honey-gold eyes, swallowing hard and mustering his courage. “Make me,” he challenged.

He expected Pete to lunge at him, to invade and conquer with wet, messy, needy abandon. Instead, Pete stepped in closer, palmed Patrick’s burning cheek, and gently kissed the corner of his mouth, then pulled back and smiled meekly. “You’re beautiful and amazing, Patrick,” he whispered. “If you never believe anything else about me, or us, believe that. You are so much better than I’ll ever be.”

Patrick sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t put me on a pedestal, and don’t think that one grand gesture is going to undo what you did.”

“Well, what will?” Pete asked, eyes huge. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything? Really?” Patrick asked playfully. His hand slid down over Pete’s hip, his thumb so close to the zipper of Pete’s jeans, but not quite. Pete gasped and let his eyes slip shut as he squirmed a little, trying to get contact where he suddenly and desperately craved it. Patrick smirked as inspiration struck. “Well, in that case,” he leaned close into Pete’s ear and pronounced, low and husky, “I think you can wait for me.” He withdrew his touch and stepped back to watch Pete, eyes still closed and swaying on his feet a little. “You can do that, can’t you, Pete?” He crossed his arms and waited while it sank in.

Pete’s eyes flew open and he nodded. “Yes, I can, Patrick. I can wait for you.” He was nearly breathless.

“That means no touching, no coming until I let you,” Patrick warned, a glint in his eye.

The smile that spread across Pete’s completely bewildered face was nothing short of sheer gratitude. He folded his hands behind his back for good measure, and his knees were moving to bend, to take Pete to the floor at the feet of…

 _…my new boyfriend, or, sweet Jesus, my Dom?_ His knees felt weaker.

Patrick stepped closer and put his hands on Pete’s shoulders. “You don’t have to kneel just now. Just do this one thing first—wait for me—and then we’ll talk about the rest.”

“Yes, Patrick, I’ll do it. Or, I mean, I _won’t_ do it, since, you know, you said not to. How long do I have to wait? I’m, I’m only asking so I know all the rules, so I can be good for you.” He laughed nervously, then added, “Sir.”

Patrick put a finger over Pete’s lips to still his yammering. “Nice try, but I don’t know how long it will be.  I haven’t decided. Just know that you’ll be getting a phone call from me, and _you have to wait for it_.” Pete whined impatiently, and Patrick added, “This is supposed to be a punishment, remember? You’re making up for being so impetuous before, for not trusting me. Now, you have to wait and trust that I will tell you when it’s time, and what you’re to do then. That’s my condition. Take or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” Pete said without hesitation. “I’ll take it, I’ll take all your conditions, if I really have a chance to make this right.” He bit his lip, looked at Patrick through his lashes, and said coyly, “I’ll be so good for you.”

“We’ll see,” Patrick murmured contemplatively. “And I’m trusting you to be honest with me, you know.”

“I know, and I promise, I won’t let you down.” With a grin, Pete added, “Not this time.”

With a shake of his head and a fond sigh, Patrick stepped back and folded his hands in front of himself, looking Pete up and down. “Now go on home, and don’t forget to be good... pet.” He gave a very small, almost imperceptible smile as he tried out the term, and relished the way Pete’s breath hitched at it.

It occurred to Patrick’s newly minted “pet” that their hour wasn’t up, but he thought better of protesting. He would only be standing in Patrick’s work room waiting, the same as he’d be doing anywhere else, anyway. Instead, he simply nodded and left, head down and heart racing with excitement.

_He still wants me!_

******

Patrick waited until he was out of the office entirely, and then finally relaxed his stance. He took a deep, cleansing breath and smiled to himself.

_He still wants me!_

“Hey,” Gracie blurted out, startling him out of his thoughts. “Everything go OK?” She still wore that guilty look, as though she were waiting for Patrick to lay into her.

“Yeah, it did, thanks. I think we’re gonna be OK,” he murmured, still looking in the direction Pete had gone.

_We’re gonna be OK. I’m gonna be OK._


End file.
